This Weekend We

I don't think my dad likes it when I post on Brackish Photography instead of posting here. He has a soft spot for Our Buzzards. 

But seeing as the great almighty Google gives preference to websites that update often, and I need that website to be trafficked in a way I don't need this one to, I posted my farm weekend pictures over there. 

I miss this place like a friend I haven't seen in ages. The type who you store up stories for. The type you know you still love even when it has been too long and who once you see, you will fall in to your old rhythm with.

For now, four kids, homeschooling, watching my niece and nephew, running a business, activism, friendships, homemaking and the like take up the bulk of my time. But soon. Soon Alamae and Jettie will need me less. There will be longer pockets where I can sit in stillness to collect my thoughts. I feel them off in the distance. 

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Now He Is 10

On Monday, Gus turned ten.

On Sunday, we had a family dinner in his honor, the menu, bangers and mash, was changed last minute to pizza and grilled sausage because the weather was beautiful and I could not bear the thought of going in to cook.

On Monday, he went to play laser tag with Tom and a friend. Tom is quick to tell that he won two of the three rounds.

Two nights ago we ate apple cobbler for dessert because it didn't materialize for his family dinner.

Tonight two friends are sleeping over. There will be a bonfire. The kids will run around the dark yard trying their best to scare one another. And my Augustus, will have been completely and thoroughly celebrated.

Which is as it should be because his very name means great or important. I know my mother eyes are biased, but I see great and important things in his future. I see his charming kindness ushering forth a movement. I don't know how large or small, but I know the world is a better place from having my son in it.

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Brackish Reflections

It started with the photography business; as I put creative energy in to it, I started to neglect this.

And then the election ripped the ground from under my feet, and I was having a hard time finding how to exist here without ranting, wailing, crying. 

I feel out of practice. There are so many thoughts swirling, and I can't quite remember how I let them come to fill the screen. 

Over the past four years, the practice of documenting my family has brought be immeasurable joy. But truthfully, I started to become self-conscious saying the same things over and over again. Repeating myself and repeating what so many other mothers are saying across this wide web. But I want to return to that even if it means I will be repeating the same few ideas ad neuseam. Even if it means the occasional rant, now and again. Because there is value in giving my thoughts space to settle. In allowing myself moments of reflection. 

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Time Only Marches Forward

Last night I showed Arlo and Alamae this video. Halfway through, Arlo began to cry.
Because Alamae isn't a baby anymore.
Because she can't go back.
Because time only moves in one direction.

When I used to teach my students about tone, I explained that nostalgia was like being homesick, but for a time, rather than a place.

Arlo cries and begs for it to stop or for it to operate like the other three dimensions, moving forward and back at will.

I want to cry out too. To keep him curled up next to me. To be able to visit this moment again one day. When he is a father himself. When he has moved away. When he no longer a four year old boy discovering.



One Year Round from rachel weaver on Vimeo.

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